


Crave

by bxnsheedunbxr



Series: Girls Of Winter [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Cheating, F/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Content later on, Skiing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 05:30:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4816883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bxnsheedunbxr/pseuds/bxnsheedunbxr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia Martin is a girl who gets what she wants. Determined to get over Stiles and find a man that wants family, she moves to California. Landing a job skiing every day, Lydia finds Aiden Scott - a wish come true. A hot surfer turned ski instructor, he checks off every requirement on her list. Except for the one she forgot to add. Aiden has a secret.  A secret so big it keeps intimacy smoldering, when Lydia needs fire. No matter how hard she tries, the embers won't ignite. Can she live without passion to get the family she craves? When Stiles comes to town, Lydia questions everything she wish for. Their consuming love threatens to explode and ruin her dream. Will she have to choose between a family and the love of her life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Stiles is a bit OOC

"What the...? Oh, God." My stomach churns and I gulp, and hope to keep the contents of my lunch down. This can't be happening. Jackson scrambles out from under her as I step backward.

"Lydia, It's not what you think." He gives me a condescending look, as if I haven't noticed they're both naked.

In an instant, I turn from nauseated to furious. I hold up a perfectly manicured fingered hand. "Don't. Just don't." There's nothing this asshole can say that makes sleeping with his ex-girlfriend okay. Nothing.

I turn and bolt down the stairs of his apartments building and into the parking lot. He doesn't follow me. Running to my car, I step into a pothole, turn my ankle and fall. "Shit!" Warmth spreads across my knee. I look down and see blood seep through my jeans. I barely feel it but I know it's going to be a bitch to wash out. All I feel is an intense need to get the hell away from here. Now. I get behind the wheel and jam the key towards the ignition; I hit plastic. After a few more tries, I throw them at the windshield with a satisfying crack and slam my hands against the steering wheel. My vision blurs as tears spill onto my cheeks. What the holy hell? Why would he do this? Would it have been so hard to break up with my first? My body shakes with sobs.

Within a few minutes, I'm spent. I snap open the glove box and search for a tissue or even a napkin. I throw what I find on the passenger seat. Tampons, Pop-Tarts, mascara sunscreen, toothbrush. Damn it, I've got nothing, so I wipe my nose on my sleeve. As I look up, I see Stiles. Tall and lean, he saunters from the Laundromat across the parking lot. Those hazel eyes look into mine; he comes towards my car.

Fan-bloody-tastic. My ex-boyfriend. This day just keeps getting better and better. I unroll the window of my vintage Saab.

Leaning his arms on the roof, he peers in at me with concern. "Are you okay?"

"What do you think, Sherlock? Do I look okay?" I'm pissed and take it out on him. I can't help it.

He backs away, holding up his hands. "Hey, sorry. What happened?"

The door of the apartment building slams shut. Panicked that it's Jackson, I glance in my rear view mirror. I watch Lorna stomp toward her car. I burst into tears again. Big, heaving sobs I can't stop. The most humiliating experience of my life, and Stiles has to be the one who witnesses it. I really need to wipe my nose. "I don't suppose you have a tissue, do you?"

He shakes his head. I'm not sure if it's about the tissue or the situation. I grab the bottom of my T-shirt and blow my nose into it. Stiles grimaces, then takes off his T-shirt and hands it to me. It's not a warm October day. I blow my nose again. The shirt smells like him, and my heart aches a little.

"Thanks." I do that horrible post-cry, gasping-hiccup thing. I don't have to look in the mirror to know my face is blotchy.

"So." I hear compassion in his voice. "I'm just hanging out, waiting for my laundry to dry. Want to talk?"

The floodgates open and more tears start to stream. Stiles opens my door and pulls me out by my hands. He tucks me against his chest and hold me tight.


	2. Chapter 2

Three weeks, and Jackson's betrayal is still so raw it hurts. I try to focus beyond the blustering snowflakes. I blink back tears in time with the windshield wipers. On my way home from another wild night out, I dropped Malia off a few miles ago. The driving sucks, and while I drank earlier, I'm sober now. Drinking every night, out dancing with friends, and still I can barely eat or sleep. Never could I have imagined the pain or humiliation I feel over Jackson cheating on me. I didn't even have a clue. Damn it! He was supposed to be the one. Jackson was a step toward what I want - no, need. A guy with a real job and goals for the future. A guy that likes children and-

"Crap!"

The car swerves and begin to fishtail. Lifting my foot off the gas, I slow and let the wheels gain traction. As my heart settles back down from my throat. I take a deep breath. That's all I need, to total my car the day before I leave for California. I won't let this get to me. I'm a beautiful girl with friends. I'm funny and sexy, and that idiot will regret losing me. And Lorna? She can have him. A smile sneaks onto my face as I recall her pounding her way across the parking lot.

California has been my dream for years. East Coast skiing can be cold and icy. But up North? Steep and lots of it. My life is such a mess; I need to start fresh, far away from Jackson. And Stiles. I turn off my iPod. Justin Timberlake doesn't help right now. I need quiet to focus in this storm. I flash to Stiles' smile at the bottom of a great run. He should come to California with me. This is his dream too. Except that wouldn't solve anything. Stiles is almost perfect for me. Almost.

He doesn't want children. And he hates holidays. How can someone hate Christmas? I hit a big pothole and my car bottoms out. Damn dirt roads. If he came with me, how would I everget over him? I miss him so much. Where's my phone? I dig through my purse on the passenger seat. When I find it, I try to hit numbers. My car lurches towards the left and I drop the phone. I graze the embankment and hear a crunch. The change in lighting tells me I broke a headlight. "Shit, shit, shit!" I yank the wheel to the right and bump back onto the road. Chill, Lydia, chill. You can call him when you get home. Now to make it there in one piece. Focus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is appreciated! Hope you like it! If you're a Liam/Hayden fan check out my other story "Deadly Love"


	3. Chapter Three

Finally, I'm home, I pull my still-shaking body out of the running car to assess the damage. It's just the headlight. Good. I turn off the ignition and head toward my apartment. I grab two logs for the wood-stove and let myself in.

It's cold. I drop my purse and take five steps to check the cast-iron wood-stove. Embers only. Sighing, I stoke them and drop in some kindling. I blow a few times, and watch for the fire to catch. It does, and I add a log to the pile.

Now what am I going to do with my car? Tears fill my eyes. I want Stiles. I pick my cell phone to call him. No. I need a drink. Something hot because it's freezing in here.

I pour the remains of the coffeepot into a mug, put it in the microwave, and hit One-Minute Express. Where did I put that Kahlua? Rifling through a box of bottles, I find it. The smell of sweet coffee and vanilla-scented liqueur swirls up my nose. I take a quick swig before I retrieve my cup. The syrupy liquid slides down as I mainline alcohol into my bloodstream. I splash a hefty amount into the coffee and stand by the wood-stove.

When my mug is empty, I'm warm enough to take off my coat. I can't fight the urge any longer. I call Stiles.

A groggy voice answers, "Hello?"

"Hey."

"Lydia?" He sound unsure.

"Yeah. Ah, I need your help." Darn it, I'm crying. This is getting old.

His voice is suddenly alert. "Are you crying? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Uh-huh. It's just I did something to my car. I think it's only a headlight, but... would you come over?" Yeah it's lame. It's not like this is an emergency.

"Jesus, what time is it?" Okay, now he sounds mad. Crap.

"I don't know, two?" I'm being selfish. I want be held and feel loved. Even at the expense of someone else's heart. There's a long silence. I wait and hope he doesn't hang up the phone.

"I have to plow in the morning."

"You can start here. Like you used to. I'll make you coffee and breakfast." I'm not above begging and add with a slight whine, "Please?" More silence. I hear rustling in the background.

"Stiles?"

He sighs. His voice is resigned. "I'm coming. Be there in a bit."

"Thanks. I owe you one."

"Lydia Martin, you owe me a lot more than one."

I know.

Pacing my apartment, I wait for him. Not that there is much to pace. I count fifteen steps and turn around. I love my space. An old garden shed converted into a loft apartment, the decor is tacky early '80's. For six hundred a month, it's all mine. The main floor is open with a loft set up in the eaves. The loft is what sold me. A big, triangle-shaped window frames a view of the valley. I set up my bed with the window at my feet, allowing me to gaze at the stars on a clear night. It's not uncommon to see a shooting star, and I've made my share of wishes. Unfortunately, they aren't coming true.

I grab a log from the pile and put it in the wood-stove. Sparks fly and threaten to burn me. I flinch and hit the side of the round opening with my wrist. Shit! Searing pain shoots through the branded red welt on my tended skin.

Heating by fire is trying. I cute a piece of aloe plant and the cool jelly globs onto my burn. Sure, I have electric backup, but my bill is high enough due to the hot water. I'm in a constant state of temperature, and burn, management. Some days, I can be gone for twelve hours and come home to mere ashes and a cold house. Some nights, I wake up sweating in a ninety-degree loft. Stoking the fire, I know things will warm up soon enough.

My stomach grumbles. What have I eaten today? I remember a banana, a few stolen French fries and maybe some cheese? And alcohol. A wave of nausea passes through me. Now that I think about it, quite a bit of it. Yeah, I need food.

Grabbing a granola bar, I open the fridge. Diet Pepsi, wine coolers, and a few condiments. Working in a restaurant feeds me well most days, so there isn't much need for food at home. Except on a day off. I pop the top of a Diet Pepsi and let the cool fizz soothe my tongue as I hop up on my tiny counter. Hell, I need more alcohol. I reach around to the freezer and pull out the chilled Absolut. I take a long drink from the soda to make room and pour a hefty amount of vodka in the can. I bite off a chuck of the granola. I know I'll be hungover tomorrow. But right now I don't care.

I watch for lights through the kitchen window. This storm sure is something. Snow beats against the window. We've already had a great snow year, and it's shaping up to be an amazing one. My skis loom in the corner, waiting for me. The storm is supposed to last through tomorrow. This is my favourite kind of ski day. I hear the wind howl and I shiver. Just the diehards venture out in a blizzard. Blustery winds, sleet-covered goggles, and snow swirling make for low visibility. It also means nearly fresh tracks every run. I had planned to leave tomorrow, but this storm is a good reason to wait one more day.

Lights flash and I hear Stiles's plow scrape the snow off my driveway. I should move my car, but I don't. Peering out the window over the couch , I notice truck headlights on my car. He gets out and bends down to inspect it. Damn, he looks good. I sense a tingle in the pit of my stomach and fidget with a button on my blouse. He walks towards the door. I open it before he can.

With one hand I grab his coat and pull him inside. Shoving the door shit, I push him up against it. His body stiffens in surprise. Before he can speak, I pull his head down and kiss him. Hard. I thrust my tongue into his mouth as if I can't taste enough of him. My hands slide into his open jacket, and I strip it off his shoulders. He relaxes and I hear a rustle of nylon as it falls to the floor. He darts his tongue into my month, but I pull away.

His voice is husky. "Lyds?"

Putting my finger to my lips I say, "Shhhh. Don't talk."

I grab the waistband of his jeans as I get down on my knees. When I unbutton them, I realize he's rock hard. The zipper releases a grinding noise as I pull it down. No underwear? Hot. He must have been half-asleep when he got dressed. Yanking the pants over his hips, I drag my tongue up his hardness. His head is titled back, and a moan rumbles through his body. I think he'll go for this. I grab his hips and pull him deep into my mouth. My senses are intoxicated with the musky woodland scent of him. I place my hands in the hollows of his butt and suck him the way he likes. I tremble with desire, and he sways a little.

I push away and stand up. My nimble fingers release with the buttons on my blouse. He scrambles with his boots and tries to watch me. Stepping back, I fling the blouse onto the couch. His eyes are full of lust, and I quickly add my black lace bra to the pile. It lands with a soft swoosh. The carpet is cool under my feet as I move toward the ladder for the loft. I strip off my jeans. Sure he's watching, I walk and wiggle at the same time. With the smooth, wooden rung of the ladder in my hand, I turn toward him. His eyes are big, and I guess he noticed I'm not wearing panties either. A deep, throaty sound escapes as he shakes his head.

The worn fabric of his jeans hit the floor while he pulls his shirt off over his head. His muscles appear defined in the dim light. I hook my finger at him, and urge him to follow me up the ladder. His breath is warm on my butt as we climb; I arch my back to push it closer. Stiles's teeth nip and I scramble up with a yelp. I turn to stare at him and put my hands on my hips. My loft is small, and he can only stand in the very center. Having hit his head more times than I can count. Stiles crawls across the shag carpet toward me.

As he rises up on his knees, I push his head between my legs and his hair tickles my tender skin. His tongue darts right home as I feel his firm grip on my bottom. Oh Lord, does he do this well. I pulse with need as ripples of pleasure spread through my core. It doesn't take long before I'm about to climax. Trembling, I grab a condom from the top of my bureau and lie back on the bed. Since it's a mattress on the floor, he easily crawls over me.

He takes the slippery foil package and I hear it rip. "Hard and fast," I order. He plunges in and I cry out at the abrupt pleasure.

Oh God, I can barely think. He pumps quickly, bringing me over. Endless waves of passion take me as he thrusts deeply into me. I hear myself call his name as he gets closer. His body tenses, and I know he's almost there, but I push him away. Stiles shudders and lift up to his knees. He has a questioning look. I reach out and whisper, "Slow and deep, please." He slides back in as I sit up to taste the salty moisture on his chest and flick my tongue up to his neck. I touch his lips with my fingers and tears burn in my eyes. My heart breaks into a million pieces. Burying my head in his chest, I wish he could be inside me forever. I wrap my legs around his waist and settle back. I let him take over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> longer chapter this time and stydia sex! it's far from over though!


	4. Chapter Four

The ringing of the clock startles me awake and I slap it off. I sneak down the ladder. Knowing Stiles needed to get up early to plow, I set an alarm before falling asleep. Without clothes, goosebumps rise on my skin as I add wood to the fire. I start a pot of coffee and find the thermos. Digging through the box of food, I look for instant oatmeal. Maple syrup and brown sugar, his favourite. I grab three packets and tear them open slowly. The contents fall with a swish into the big beer mug and I add water. The microwave door shuts with a soft click as I try to be quiet.

God, my head pounds. The remains of my Diet Pepsi and vodka are still on the counter, and I'm about to pour it down the drain. The distilled odor makes my stomach flip, but I figure the hair of the dog and all that. Advil is on the shelf above the sink. The sweet candy coating melt on my tongue before I wash them down with the remaining contents of the can. Coffee splashes into two cups and the spoon clinks as I stir instant creamer and sugar in Stiles'. I take a sip of my black liquid, and the bitter flavor awakens my senses. I manage to hold all three mugs in one hands to climb the ladder.

"Rise and shine," I say.

Stiles sits up and the covers fall to his waist. The faint trail of hair leading under the sheet has me weak. I climb on the bed and hand him his breakfast.

"You're too good to me." His sleepy scent makes me want to cuddle under the covers with him.

No, you're the one that's too good to me. "So, how long do you think it will take for you to plow today?"

"Hmm, I did some last night, so a couple of hours. I'll have to do them all again later too. Why?"

"Why? Do you really have to ask that?" I have a huge grin on my face as I think about the fresh powder.

He cocks his head at me with hope. "I though you were leaving today. Change your mind?"

Crap. I didn't want to have this discussion again. I'm such an idiot. No, I'm more like a selfish bitch. "Please. I'm still leaving. I just don't want to drive for twelve hours in this storm. I'm going skiing instead. Want to come?"

"Wait. So what was this?" He spreads his arms out, referring to the bed. Pain clouds his eyes.

I take a deep breath. "Me, not being able to get over you." I run my fingers through my hair, stalling. "Drinking too much and wanting you so badly, I begged you to come in the middle of the night." I sigh. "And it's me being a total bitch because it doesn't change anything."

He turns his head away for a moment and then gets out of the bed. He's hurt. He swaggers a little as he approaches the ladder and says, "I'm damn irresistible."

As he turns to climb down, I see his grin. On the outside. On the inside? I know what I'm doing to him because I'm also doing it to myself. I hate me for it.

I pull on sweats and climb down into the kitchen to get his thermos ready. A plastic grocery bag rustles as I put a banana, granola bars, and water inside. I reach out to hand it to him and his strong callused hands hold my face. His kiss is tender. "I'll be back my nine. Be ready."

The plow hits the ground with a clunk and then scrapes my drive one quick time before he's gone. Somehow my heart breaks a little bit more. Why does life have to be so damned complicated? I climb up to the loft, strip and get into bed. I breath in the smell of our sex-scented sheets and cry myself to sleep.


	5. Chapter Five

A sense of deja vu hits me when I switch off the alarm. Oh, right, I did this three hours ago. My head barely pounds and excitement sets in. It should be an epic day. I whip off the covers, and the salty essence of last night surrounds me. A smile sneaks onto my face when I think about Stiles. a bit of after-burn in my belly makes me tremble the slightest bit. Good Lord, that boy knows what to do to my body. Naked, I don't stay warm long. The chill pulls me back to earth. I yank on long underwear, socks, and a turtleneck. I revel in the way they hug my body as I scramble down the ladder. My cold coffee is on the counter. I stick it in the microwave and give the door a satisfying slam. Pushing the buttons, I put it to work. A cold blast of ice and snow stings my face as I set my skis and bag of gear outside. The ding of the microwave tells me my rocket fuel is ready. I pinch open the Advil bottle and shake out two candy-coloured pills. I spy the oatmeal. No time. I grab Pop-Tarts and shove them in the pocket of my fleece.

Damn, I have to pee. I shove my arms in the fleece as I enter my tiny bathroom. The seat is cold when I sit down. No time to waste, I reach for a hair elastic to slip on my wrist and a comb for my pocket. Curls everywhere, I don't bother to tame it now. On my way out, I snag the smooth tin of Nivea cream for my face and slip it in another pocket. My L.L Bean boots are cold when I slide them on my feet. I hear Stiles's jeep and grab my ski pass from the hook. The ball chain catches my hair as I pull it over my head, and I run a quick mental list. Fire. I grab a log and clunk the handle int the round, heavy lid to the wood-stove. I throw the wood in without a glance, but hear the angry sparks threaten to burn me as I slam the cover in place. I'm coming home to a cold house tonight, but I don't have time to deal with it now. If I'm lucky, there will be ember and it won't take long to get it going.

Out the door with a kick to make sure it automatically locks, I'm ready without a second to spare. My skis clatter as Stiles throws them in the back of the jeep. The wind whips my hair around into chaos. Pulling a strand out of my mouth I offer, "Want me to drive?"

"I've seen your car, Lyds. No way." He grins as I climb into the cab. Heat blows through the vent. It would be welcome if I weren't sweating. Stiles sticks his head out his window and looks back. He put the jeep in reverse, and the engine roars with acceleration. "I got you a headlight. We can replace it later."

"Thanks." I pull out my comb and begin the taming. This might take a while. The visibility is awful and I'm glad Stiles is driving. Once I'm satisfied my hair is snarl-free, I braid it. My stomach clenches it's contents. Advil and coffee without food is not a good combination. I find my Pop-Tarts and tear open the foil. "Want one?"

"No. You eat crap." His brow is furrowed with the focus required for driving in the storm.

"Only on my days off. The food in the restaurant isn't crap."

"Not when I'm cooking. But who knows what you eat when I'm not there to feed you."

"Hey!" I stick a piece of processed pastry in my mouth, frosting side down. The sugary sweetness goes to my bloodstream.

"C'mon. You barely ate yesterday, right?"

"How do you know this stuff? Are you the food police?" Here we go, the your-body-is-a-temple rant.

"I just do." He sighs. "I care. You aren't taking care of yourself these days. You're getting skinny." His hand reaches over and tweaks my thighs.

I know. I'm a mess without him. But I don't tell Stiles that. I turn away and watch the snow swirl around us. I draw a heart on the fogged-up passenger window. "How much snow do you think we got?"

"Tough to say. The drifts are over six feet in some places."

Turning forward, I slip my feet out of my boots and tuck a leg under me. "Sweet! We're going to have fun." I see Stiles give me a quick look.

I find my Nivea and smear the heavy cream on my face. The greasiness is welcome; it will help keep my skin warm. With a clean finger I flip down the visor and look in the mirror. Satisfied it's all rubbed in, I snap the visor back in place. I lean back and close my eyes.

"Hungover?"

Kind of. "Nope, just tired. Somebody kept me up last night." I open one eye and look over at him with a smirk.

He snorts. "I could say the same."

And just like that, my body heats up. My face flushes and the pit of my belly trembles. I swear, one look from Stiles and I want him. I wonder what he would say to a quickie in the parking lot? I smile an evil smile.

"What are you thinking over there? That look scares me."

"I wonder what you would say to me straddling you for a few minutes when we get to parking lot."

He gives me a quick glance to see if I'm serious. "Aren't you forgetting something important here? You know, like the fact you aren't my girlfriend and don't want to be? Jesus, Lydia, you dumped me. You can't have it both ways." His knuckles are white on the wheel.

He's pissed. I shove my hands through my hair. Damn it, so much for that braid. "I'm sorry." I look over at his profile. His mouth is tight. I sure know how to screw things up.

We don't say anything. I get my comb and re-braid my hair. I hear the steady beat of the wipers and the angry storm winds. Stiles shakes his head. He shifts in his seat and lets out a little sigh. "You're the horniest girl I know." Then he gives me a quick glance. There is a mischievous smile on his face. "Maybe."

Bear Mountain Lot is where the locals park. It's at the base of a trail called Outer Limits. Expert-only terrain, it's not a common place for most people to start. It's also not a good place to have sex. Too many friends know Stiles's jeep, and it's more than likely someone will see us. Exhibitionism is not us.

I hear Stiles drop the plow with a heavy clunk and shove snow forward. "You love that thing, don't you?" I unsnap my seatbelt, turn around and unzip his gear bag. Reaching in, I feel the smooth nylon and grab his ski pants. I retrieve mine too.

He lifts the plow and shifts into reverse. "Hey, just letting the inner redneck out."

"Inner? Look at you. You've got the stubble to prove it." My fingers ache to touch the roughness of his jaw.

He pulls back into the space and parks. Cool fabric slides up my legs as I shimmy into my pants. I slip my boots on and zip up my fleece. I turn back again to grab my jacket, hat, and mittens. Because Stiles had to take off his boots, he is just pulling on his pants. I hear the hum of his zipper as I grab his clothing too.

"Wait a minute. I thought you had plans for me?" His smile tells me he's teasing.

"I did, but the powder is calling. Rain check?" I'm not teasing.

"Sure, but you're not very good at paying your tab."

I straddle his lap and take his face in my hands. "I'm here to make a payment," I say in a soft voice. My lips burn as I nibble his neck and press my hips into his. He hardens instantly. My nipples tingle, and I think about taking him right now. A knock on the window sends me scrambling back to the passenger seat.

Stiles lowers his window, and Scott smirks at us as he shakes his head. "Couple 'a rabbits. Nice."

My face flushes and Stiles had a huge grin. "Chicks dig me. It's the truck."

Scott is his best friend but his boss in the summer. He runs a house-building company, and I know he's aware of our relationship. Considering we broke up last summer, I guess he know more about me than I'd like.

Scott slaps the jeep door. "Have a great day, guys." He heads towards the lodge.

"He probably hates me."

Stiles raises the window. "He doesn't hate you. He thinks you're stupid for dumping me, but he gets why. And he thinks I'm stupid for that."

Scott is married and has three kids. He would understand why I want to have children. I sigh. "You are. I know you; you'd make a great father. But you need to want it. You can't do it for me. I'd be a fool staying with you and thinking you might change." My eyes tear up. In a shaky voice I say, "But you know all that." And there we have it. The reason my heart is torn to shreds. Tears brim in my eyes.

He reaches over and takes my hand. "Let's not do this. We have an awesome day. Let's enjoy it."


	6. Chapter Six

I imagine that what we're doing right now looks insane to everyone but a select few. We sit in the midst of a blizzard on a cold, metal chair. Wind whips around us, and my stomach rolls as the chair sways dangerously from side to side. Sections of metal support poles are covered in snow that looks like sprayed frosting. High above ground that can't be seen through the storm, there are icicles the size of daggers hanging from the bar surrounding us. Tiny bits of ice pelt my jacket with a pricking noise. I see them bounce off Stiles's helmet. Snow had collected in every crease of our clothing. I scrape a section of my goggles with my mitten and look over at Stiles. I can't see his mouth under the fleece fabric he has pulled up, but I know he's smiling. Huddled together, we preserve our warmth. When we get moving, that won't be a problem.

Once off the chair, Stiles leads the way. He looks for a tree shot. A slightly open section of snow in the trees, it's a more protected area to ski. The wind is blocked and you have much better visibility. It's also full of great skiing. The whining wind blows snow off open trails, and it collects in the pockets between trees. They're spread apart enough for us to weave our way down. Instead of a steady, rhythmic run, it's more reactive. You turn when and where you can. Over time you learn the section and can take bigger risks. We know this one well.

It's hard to talk on a day like today, but we don't need to. We've developed a few signals to communicate. But mostly we know each other so well it's easy to predict our movements.

Dropping into the section, the noise of the storm is instantly muffled. Pine trees droop with the weight of snow and ice. The snow is pristine. No sign of previous skiers, it's deliciously virgin. My skis slice through and I feel them completely enveloped. I ski the whole ski and now just the bottom. Pressure on the top and sides help me control speed. Changing planes in a slight up-and-down motion. I'm mesmerized by the floating. My legs burn with the exertion, and my lungs pump oxygen efficiently . Extending my arms one at a time, my poles act as bumpers, and push me back to my center and maintain my balance. My mind is focused on keeping everything working together.

Stiles stops and waits for me to catch up. He pulls down his fleece face covering. "Was that amazing, or what?"

I lower my moist fabric. "Epic!"

We're both breathless and my heart beats hard. My mitten sticks with sweat as I remove it. I unzip my jacket and pull my water bottle out from inside my coat. I suck down a few cold mouthfuls and offer it to Stiles. "We need to stay in the trees. This just rocks."

"Isn't it beautiful in here, Lydia? Listen."

Wind howls and I realize I can't hear another soul, I say, "I feel so alone."

"I know. Isn't it great?" He smiles and hands me my water bottle. "The Cliffs?"

I nod my head. "Excellent plan."

The Cliffs is a section that requires practice and many runs before it flows with ease. Most of the ledges are hidden and need specific tactics. It may be vital to hit the cliff at a certain angle to avoid an obstacle on the other side. Many cliffs can't be taken without multiple feet of snow cover. Today, we know we can hit them all. I have no doubt we'll be there for a few runs. Flying off snow-covered rocks is Stiles's favourite thing. Well, one of them.

After a long ski day, my body is spent. The truck cab heater wraps warmth around me and I'm sleepy. The blizzard lets up, and snow flurries swirl lazily through the air in front of us. Brown slush splashes up from the tires ahead.

"What time are you leaving tomorrow?" Stiles looks exhausted. I know he has a couple of hours of plowing to do after he changes my headlight.

"By seven. I only need to load my car. Most things are packed. I'll do some tonight and finish in the morning." There is so much I want to say. I want to tell him to lie to me. To tell me he wants babies and holidays and a family. I want him to say he can't live without me and make it all be okay. I want my heart to stop breaking. Silent tears fall. He knows I'm crying. His strong hand wraps around mine, and we finish the ride in silence.

I slide down onto the ground from the truck, and my thighs moan with impact. I gather my gear and bring it inside to dry. Setting it down, I hear the familiar clunk of his plow drop to clear the driveway. I grab my keys and go out to move my car. The door lock is covered with ice. I slam it hard with my fist and slide in the key. Sitting, the cold leather of the bucket seat bites through my long underwear and I begin to shiver. Shifting is still and my car groans into movement. I don't want to go. I want to jump into Stiles's warm truck and tell him to take me home. To take me to his bed. We can stay there forever, and all the other things that matter now longer do. Damn it.

I get out of the car and slam the door harder than I need to. I stomp my way over to my apartment like a petulant child. Once inside, I lift the lid to the wood-stove and peer at the fire. There are embers and I blow on them to see a glow. The flue squeaks as I open it all the way. I grab a thinner piece of wood from the pile and stick it in. When I blow again, it catches. Adding more wood, I know it will roar in a few minutes.

I glance out the window to watch Stiles work on my headlight. That familiar longing pulls at me. I ache with desire for him. It's a bone-deep pain, and I don't think it will ever end. Tears pools in my eyes. I try to make them stop, and my throat hurts with the effort. I bite my lip and let the pain force it happen. I can fall apart once he's gone. I just want one last kiss and then I can cry. Forever.

Stiles stomps his feet at my doorstep and walks in. The fire cracks and spits. I look onto his eyes and run to him. He pulls me in tight. So tight, I almost can't breathe. He lets go and wipes the tears from my face. His kiss is tender and tugs at my heart. We pull apart slowly, and I say, "Some girl is going to get the most amazing guy on this earth on this earth. She can never love you more than I do. But I hope she comes close and makes you happy." Tears stream and I don't bother to stop them.

Stiles cries too. "I love you, Lydia." He walks out the door. I crumble to the ground in a puddle.


	7. Chapter Seven

By day three of driving, I have no more tears left to cry. I have stored Stiles safely in my heart. It's time to move on. The white lines on the interstate tick by as I drive. I start to form a plan. Moving to California mid ski season will have its challenges. The good jobs are gone, and finding a place to live will be next to impossible. But I have an idea.

Driving into Beacon Hills, I stop at the first gas station I see. I breathe in the thin mountain air, which is laced with the mesmerizing smell of petroleum as I fill my tank. I grab a realty magazine and start calling. The third time gets me what I'm looking for. The manager will be in around two.

I have an hour to kill, so I take a quick tour of Beacon Hills. Snow cover on the roads muffles the sound of my wheels. Looking up at the Continental Divide, the mountains look like white tents set again the blue sky. Puffy clouds that resemble cotton float, and I think of shadow boxes made in elementary school. Brightly-coloured old buildings line the main street in town, and ski-rack-topped vehicles edge the streets.

I pull into a remote parking lot about a block away from the real estate agency. In the back of the car, I shuffle through a pile of clothes on hangers. Stepping out of the car, I look around to make sure nobody is watching. Goose bumps cover my legs as I drop my jeans and shimmy into a off-white wool pencil skirt. I glance around the lot to make sure I'm still alone and pull off my tee to slide into a blue silk blouse. I slip low pumps on my feet. My hair gets finger combed and wounded into a conservative French twist. I don't have a nice coat; a ski jacket will have to do. Showtime.

The door to the office is one of those heavy ones designed to disarm. I'm not the least bit swayed. The wool on my skirt is rough under my fingers as I smooth it down. I'm determined and hope this works.

A keyboard clacks away. It stops and an older woman looks at me with kind eyes.

"I have a meeting with Mr. Jones." My voice is clear and confident, unlike my nerves.

"Have a seat and I'll let him know you're here." The woman's lavender scent wafts toward me.

She picks up the phone, pushes a button, and says, "Miss Martin is here to see you."

Hanging up with a click, she tells me to go down the hall to his office. I take a deep breath and throw back my shoulders. Placing each foot heavily, I walk with purpose. Mr. Jones opens the door as I approach and offers a hand. I shake, squeezing a little harder than I like and walk in.

"So how may I help you, Miss Martin?"

"Sir, I need a job and a place to live." Before he can sit down in judgement, I push on. "I know in resort towns cleaning people are hard to keep. They're not always responsible and often leave you high and dry midwinter. I'm here to help you with that problem."

Handing him a folder, I continue, leaving no room for him to speak. "Here are five references that will tell you how reliable I am. I can start tomorrow, and all I ask is that you help me find a place to live." Whew. It's out and he didn't interrupt me.

He lets out a little chuckle. "That's all? A place to live?" He waves to a chair. "Have a seat." He pulls up the legs of his slacks and settles into a big leather chair.

I can tell he's surprised by me. What I can't tell? Is if it's a good thing. "Thank you." I perch myself on the edge of a plain, cushioned chair. "Yes, sir. I know how impossible it is to find a long-term rental, and I'm prepared to pay six months up front."

"How picky are you?" He twirls a pen between his fingers.

Yes! He's considering it. "Safety is me only requirement." Smiling, I add, "I know how to clean."

He sits back in his chair with his arms resting on a round belly. "Where are you coming from?"

"Vermont. I just got here today." I fold my hands in my lap and sit a little taller.

"Mid-season? What brings you here?"

"I need a change of scenery, and now seemed like a good time."

He chuckles again. "Miss Martin, this is your lucky day. See that woman out front? She owns a boarding house. She rents to females only and has strict rules. Curfew, no men, clean room subject to inspection, kitchen-cleaning duties, and most of all, no drinking or smoking. If she smells anything on your breath, you're on the street."

Wow, no wonder she doesn't have renters in ski country. I suppose I can give up the party-girl persona for a place to live. "That suits me just fine, sir."

He pulls open a drawer and leafs through some papers. "I'll call Janet and send you her way. She is in charge of cleaning all the rentals, and you're right. She is very short-staffed. Here's her card. Do you have a cell phone?"

"I do." Grabbing a pen out of my purse, I reach over and write the number on the folder I had given him. "Mr. Jones. Thank you. I really appreciate this." I hold out my hand, and he grasps it in both of his.

"You're welcome, Miss Martin. You're a lovely young lady, and I welcome you to Beacon Hills. Now go see Mrs. Matheson about that room."


	8. Chapter Eight

No two ways about it, cleaning rentals sucks. People are just gross. Putting on my rubber gloves, I head to the bathroom. Even cleaning crews have a seniority system, and I'm at the bottom. I've never seen so crap, dried pee, and hair. Why didn't I think about this part of my great plan? Thank God for the strong smell of bleach.

I'm teamed with Erica. She's a local and has two little kids. Her husband is a ski instructor, and I have no idea how they manage to pay their bills. She doesn't like cleaning either and spends most of the time singing songs to get through it. She has a small radio and seems to know the words to all of the tunes. When one of her favourites comes on, she'll grab a duster and come sing to me. Usually, I'll join in. I've never met a happier person. Days with her almost make this job fun.

Having finished our last unit for the day, we climb into the ugly yellow and green company car and head back to the office.

"Lydia, what's your plan for this summer? Are you going to try to stay here, or go back?"

I turn down the radio. "I hope to stay here. As much as I love how I look in rubber gloves, I think I want a jump on a better job next year."

"And a place that lets you have a social life?" She flips the blinker on to turn right.

"I'm kind of okay without a social life right now. It's nice getting enough sleep." Lately I feel great. I started running and eating well. Taking a break from drinking has been just what the doctor ordered.

She turns the car right. "Boyd told me he saw you skiing the other day and says you're really good. He thinks you should apply to be an instructor."

"That sounds interesting. How do I find out more?" I glance out at the mountains glimmering against the deep blue sky.

"Come to dinner Friday. You can sleep over. That way you can drink wine with me. I'll even write you a note."

I chortle. "Very funny. I would love to come over. Those two kids of yours are the cutest things."

"They think you're pretty great, too. You make up good bedtime stories. They'll be excited when I tell them."

"What should I bring?" We've stopped at a red light, and she turns up the radio.

"Just yourself. No, wait." She looks over at me. "How about some grown-up dessert?"

"Deal." We both sing loudly with Rihanna as we head to the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's really short but I'm in the middle of coursework and re-sits, so i'm really busy.


	9. Chapter Nine

Erica and Boyd live in small pre-fab house in a neighborhood full of them. It's eight hundred square feet of ranch with three bedrooms and one bathroom. Erica's idea of decorating is to frame pictures of her life. A decent photographer, her walls are a wonderful story. I love to tease her kids by pointing to a picture and making up a silly tale to go with it. They could play the game all night.

The gravel rumbles as I pull into her driveway. I see a red truck and smell trouble. I bet they've invited some single guy, just right for me. I let out a big sigh and prepare myself mentally. Three months without a boyfriend has been healing. The next one will have to meet all the requirements, and truck boy is probably not it.

But that doesn't mean I have to look frumpy. I pop open my glove box to find an eyelash curler and mascara. I adjust my ponytail a bit higher and pull out some tendrils. A little coral pink lipstick and I'm good to go.

Five-year-old Benjamin and seven-year-old Jenny wiggle with excitement behind the glass door. I ring the doorbell anyway.

"Lydia! Lydia! You're here!" They push open the door and I step in. I squat down to their level.

"Erica? Boyd? Gosh you two have gotten smaller. You haven't been eating your vegetables, have you?"

Giggling, they jump on me.

"Lydia, it's me Benjamin. You're so silly."

"Oh gosh, that makes sense. Whew, for a minute I thought I would have to cook up some spinach."

Erica yells from the kitchen. "Lydia! So glad you're here. I'm afraid I started without you. Come on in and get your glass."

The house is small but cozy. As I walk forward, there's a couch on the right, a hall, and straight ahead is the kitchen entry. To the left is a section of wall that stops, and beyond is the small dining room.

Stepping into the kitchen, I notice a second entryway on the left that leads to the dining room. A big pot steams on the stove. As I take a glass of mine, I lean over to smell dinner. Well, and to steam the hair around my face into spiral curls. Cayenna spice hits my nose. Garlic, tomato, rice, and something lumpy, is it Cajun?

"Jamabalaya. I felt the need to spice things up for us tonight." Erica gives me a wink. "Come meet Aiden."

I take a quick sip for courage and venture into the dining room. Oh my. There at the table is a very fine-looking man with blond hair. Ice-blue eyes look up to me. He has that perpetual google-face tan of a daily skier. He's in a tight, long-sleeve tee that leaves no doubt about his hard-earned ripped body. Are those flip-flops on his feet propped up on the chair?

"Aiden, this is my friend Lydia."

"Hey. Body tells me you should be an instructor, and I'm here to help convince you."

Uh-huh, and maybe get a little something on the side too, beach boy? He is way too beautiful to not be looking for a little action. But okay, I'll play for a while. I give Erica points for picking a cute one. We'll reserve judgement on personality for a bit longer. Maybe I'm wrong, but he has the look of someone who is a little too into himself.

Benjamin grabs my hand. "Lydia, come play will us. Uncle Aiden helped us set up the train."

Uncle Aiden? Is he Boyd or Erica's brother? I start to scrutinize him and see he does look a big like Erica. They have the same eyes. Except she's not as tanned as he is. Well, now, maybe I was wrong after all.

The moment I see the train I'm enthralled. "Oh, wow, this looks fun." It does. In Benjamin's room, the train takes up almost the entire floor. Wooden tracks fit together like a puzzle, and there are numerous little train cars. Aiden and I plop down with the kids and slide into the fantasy world of child play.

Jenny hands me a purple train car. "You can be Lady." She hands Aiden the caboose and begins to giggle.

Benjamin yells. "All aboard!"

We all place our train cars on the track and Jenny hooks them together. She leaves the caboose unattached and Benjamin moves the train. Aiden calls out in a high-pitched voice. "Hey! Wait for me, wait for me."

Benjamin stops the train and lets out a pretend, impatient sigh. They've played this game before.

"I had to tie my shoe." Aiden sets them off into a fit of giggles, and I find I laugh too. I've changed my mind about them. He's goofy and comfortable with the children.

Erica calls us for dinner, and we gather around the table to bowls of deliciousness. I notice the kid's dishes are filled with plain rice, chicken and peas. I take a spoonful of jambalaya. The flavour teases my tongue, leaving me wanting more. I grab a piece of bread and tear off a bit. "Aiden, are you Erica's brother?"

"Neither. Boyd and I have been friends since the first grade, and I'm the godfather for both kids. I came out here last summer to visit and never left."

"I can see why. The skiing here is so amazing. What do you do in the summer?"

"I haven't decided yet. I might work at a bike shop if I don't have to be inside all day. What are you going to do?"

I speak around the piece of bread in my mouth. "Good question. I can probably keep my cleaning job, but I'd rather not."

Erica lifts her glass. "Amen, sister! We have to work on that."

I lift mine to meet here and notice I'm only halfway through it. Tasting how warm it is, I excuse myself to go put ice in my glass.

Erica joins me in the kitchen and whispers, "So what do you think of Aiden?"

I give her a thumbs-up. What can I say? He's funny, good with kids, and hot. Smoking hot. Except for the lack of a real job, he stacks up well on my list. I should have known Erica would pick a good one for me. The trouble is, I don't think I'm ready yet.

When dinner is over, the kids watch a video while the adults sit around the table and talk. I listen to stories about Aiden and Boyd as kids and laugh hard enough to have tears. It feels good. Looking at the clock, I realize it's way past bedtime for Benjamin and Jenny. Seeing my glance, Erica touches Boyd's arm. "We should go put the kids to bed. Benjamin is already asleep."

They each scoop up a child and take them to Benjamin's room. Jenny calls out. "Lydia, I left you a teddy to sleep with. His name is Brownie."

Aiden leans over and I catch a whiff of beer on his breath. "I guess he's brown."

I whisper back. "I think you're right."

"So tell me the real story, Lydia. What brings you here in the middle of the winter?"

Oh, boy. How do I answer that? "Boy trouble. And great skiing."

He leans back and crosses his arms while he squints his eyes at me. He's not quite buying it. I can tell he wants to know more, but won't push. I decide to turn the tables.

"So what's the real reason you stayed?"

"Heartbreak." He says nothing more, and I don't ask for it.

Here we sit in silence. Both of us with sad stories we don't want to talk about.

I swirl the wine in my glass. "Do you get many days off as an instructor?"

"We have once designated day and often can get out of work after lineup in the morning. Before lineup, we have an hour or so. The lifties let us on with patrol, and we can have fresh tracks every day. I try not to miss it." He takes a swig of beer.

"That sounds like a dream job to me. So how do I get it?"

"Can you ski Tuesday? I'm free and I'll introduce you to the director. He'll want to ski with you for a few runs. Then I'll take you to the top secret spots I know." There's a twinkle in his eye and I notice he's flirting, just a little. None of this over-the-top stuff I have come to expect from the pretty boys. Nice.

"I can. Where and when?"

"Meet me at the Silverthorne chair at nine."

"I'll be there. Thanks." This could be nerve-racking. I know I was one of the better female skier on the mountain back home, but here is a different story. This is one big pond, and I'm a small fish. Boyd did say being a children's instructor was about making sure the kids have fun, and I have that part down. I just hope my skiing is good enough.


End file.
